The Land of Broken Roads - The Druid - Chapter 8

The song Hèctor sang opened a window in Dirt’s mind that he hadn’t known was closed. That’s what it felt like. Like light shining into one of those rooms in that old tower after throwing open the curtains. It was just a simple melody, one long, flowing line without much ornamentation, but it made Dirt breathless. His jaw hung open.

It was so novel and exciting that Dirt hardly even heard the words, which were about a kingdom lost to time. The melody repeated itself as the song progressed and by the end, Dirt found himself humming along, his brain trying to inhale the tune like it was air and he was drowning.

“That was amazing!” he shouted, once it was over. Hèctor just gave him a slightly embarrassed look and took a step backward. Dirt realized he’d stepped right up to the man, close enough to touch him. “I had no idea. Are there more songs?”

Hèctor’s black eyes sparkled, even if the rest of his face remained stoic. “I know a few more.”

“Please?” Dirt begged, clasping his hands together to keep from jumping forward to hug him.

“What do you think, Marina?” asked Ignasi.

“I think you should teach him a dance. How about a light-step?” she said, folding her arms.

Dirt sensed there was something going on that he was missing, but he was too excited to care, or even consider looking at their minds to figure out what it was.

“I think we can do that. Give me your hand, Dirt,” said Ignasi. He stood back a bit from the others to leave room and held his hand out.

Dirt jumped over and grabbed it enthusiastically. He detected a slight raise of the man’s eyebrow, right before his face softened into a warm half-smile.

“No, with your other hand. Stand there, beside me,” said Ignasi.

Dirt complied and lined up next to him. Ignasi lifted their interlocked hands into the air, then held his other hand out, palm up.

“Like this,” he said, and Dirt mirrored it. “Now, watch.” Ignasi performed a series of steps, forward a few, then back a few, then side to side and back again. Long short short, long short short. Dirt followed along, stumbling as he tried to memorize it.

“Lift your knees more. This is a dance. Good. Now, this part is a hop. Once more. Good. That will do. Marina, will you clap for us? Whenever you’re ready, Hèctor.”

Dirt was so nervous when the song began that he almost fell over, but Ignasi held him up and got him moving again. Marina clapped a beat for them, and each clap was a step. It took Dirt no time at all to get the hang of it and soon he was stepping as lightly as Ignasi, hardly touching the ground as they danced.

Hèctor’s song was simple again, and much more repetitive. It only had two lines. The first one changed every time and told a story of a woman dancing with different men, and the second line was always the same. Dirt wasn’t sure if the second line was half nonsense words or just ones he didn’t know yet, but he suspected it was just sounds. Fake words.

His pants started slipping and he panicked. Both hands were occupied, so he tried stepping really high with his knees to push them back up again. It worked for a time, but after a series of hops that Ignasi improvised and Dirt was able to follow, the waist slid down to his knees and Dirt lost his footing.

Marina laughed so hard she stopped clapping, Hèctor lost the melody, and while he didn’t quite laugh, he did give up singing and grinned. Dirt let go of his panic and laughed along, his whole body dangling and contorted as he tried to pull his pants up with one hand while Ignasi kept going.

Ignasi noticed last and just looked warmly amused. He released Dirt’s hand, since a person needed both to pull his pants up.

Hèctor gave Marina a knowing look and muttered, “If so, he would be a better dancer.” She snorted and wiped a tear from her eye, chest still shaking with quiet laughter.

“Can we keep going?” asked Dirt, fumbling with the knot. It hadn’t come untied—it simply started out too loose to begin with, which meant he had to undo the knot and re-tie it.

Ignasi pulled a small metal cup from his pack and poured a bit of water in. “Here, have a sip. Dancing makes you thirsty.”

The knot wasn’t coming together very quickly and Dirt was now growing embarrassed. “Thanks, but I just had some a little while ago. And I filled that up, anyway.”

“Please, I insist. Just a little drink. Hold it in both hands, and I’ll tie that for you,” said Ignasi. He still had on a friendly smile, but there was something in his eye that made Dirt want to look at his mind. He resisted, though. Whatever he saw there might give him away when he reacted to it.

Dirt hesitantly took the cup in both hands like the man said and drank it. It was only a swallow or two. Then he held it, feeling awkward, as Ignasi tied the knot nice and tight.

“There,” said Ignasi, standing again and patting Dirt’s shoulder. He took the cup and tapped him on the head with it a couple times. To the others he said, “Does that answer it, then?” He plinked the cup with his fingernail.

Hèctor shrugged and said, “He is not a fada.”

Dirt wasted no time. “Can we dance again? Or just listen? Do you know any other songs? How many are there?”

Marina tossed aside some of her long, dark hair, which had gotten into her face. “We can sing while we walk. There is plenty of daylight left.”

Hèctor said, “Just not straight up again. No one can sing while working that hard.”

Marina chuckled, still in good spirits. “Agreed. Dirt, lead us on easy paths from now on. Do we need to wait for your wolf? What was his name? Socks?”

Dirt smiled, almost reaching to hold her hand before he started walking. It was still a habit after spending so much time with the dryads, especially Callius. “Socks. And we don’t need to worry. He will find us when he wants to.”

But just in case, Dirt sent out the thought, “Socks, are you having fun? I just heard music! They’ll sing some for us while we walk, and maybe more later.”

-I am having fun. I found cattle. Now they are mad at me.-

“Don’t let them poke you with their horns,” replied Dirt, following it with a puff of affection.

-They are too slow.-

“What does this mean, Socks?” asked Hèctor. “Does his name have a meaning?”

Dirt blinked twice before he remembered they weren’t part of the conversation. “It means…” Dirt squatted down at pulled up Hèctor’s pant leg, just far enough to expose his worn leather shoes. “It means this,” said Dirt, tugging at the sock inside it. “Because his front paws are white.”

“Mitjons? Him? That terrifying beast? Who could ever dare name him mitjons?” asked Hèctor, in total disbelief. The man’s hard face almost looked pale.

“Mitjons in my language is socks, and that’s his name. I named him. And besides, he named me… my name means… this stuff.” Dirt bent down and tried to grab a handful of dirt, but the ground was too hard and he only got a pinch.

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“Brutícia?” asked Marina, horrified. “Your name is la brutícia?”

“Yep! And I like it. It’s a good name.”

“La brutícia,” muttered Ignasi.

“Why brutícia?” asked Marina. She seemed almost hurt.

“Because I was covered in dirt when we met,” said Dirt. “The dirt there is black and thick and it gets all over me.”

“Is that all?” asked Ignasi. “Just Dirt?”

“I have another name, but I like Dirt, so call me that. My best friend gave it to me. My other name is Avitus, though.”

Ignasi laughed at this, a short guffaw that the others didn’t emulate. Then he paused. “Wait, Avitus? Is your other name really Avitus, or was that a joke?”

Marina said, “He sure doesn’t look like an avitus.”

“Wait, what’s an avitus?” Dirt asked. They were saying the word in a way that didn’t sound like a name.

Hèctor’s brusque demeanor had been softening, slowly, but now the man had his walls back up. “Why is your name Avitus? Tell us now.”

“Hèctor, come, there is no way,” said Marina.

“The stories come from somewhere! Now tell us, why are you Avitus?”

Dirt stammered. “It’s just my name? What’s wrong with Avitus in your language? In mine it just means… like an old man. Sort of.”

Marina huffed and said, “An avitus is a monster. He is shaped like a man in a cloak, but his skin is purple. He walks into a town telling everyone what to do, and if they don’t, maleeix el poble i després marxa.” He somethings the town and leaves.

Hèctor continued, “The town will be destroyed soon after. Monsters will come, or a fire, or a terratrèmol. Everyone will die. So tell me, why are you named Avitus?”

Dirt froze. Somehow they remembered. Part of his story remained. The echo of his breaking the world still sounded in the ears of the living, three thousand years later. It wasn’t complete, not the real story, but it wasn’t too far off, and not even he knew what the real story was. Prisca hadn’t, even though she blamed him. She’d seen before and after. She’d watched everything decay and fall apart. Rampant destruction, sparing only a few buildings like her Schola. No one to clean the corpses from the streets, no one to bring fresh food. She had become that abomination only a few years later, watching from her windows as the weeds grew, as gardens burst out of their fences, as the last few buildings tumbled into bricks when vines pulled them down. And then, finally, the trees, imprisoning her.

“Stop it, Hèctor, you’re going to make him cry!” said Marina. “Come on, Dirt. No one thinks you are really an avitus. There are no such things.”

“I just want to hear what he says, Marina. It is a simple question,” said Hèctor.

Dirt almost lied then. He felt the falsehood on his tongue and clicked his teeth shut to keep it in. Lying would damage him. He knew it instinctively. Too much of what he was depended on truth for him to risk putting a lie into the world.

“I don’t remember my parents, or why they named me Avitus. No one even calls me that. I am only Dirt now,” he finally said.

“Hèctor,” said Ignasi. “You know what the wilds are like. There is a reason everyone is dying and it is not him. He is not a fada and he is not an avitus. That gryphon would have killed us, and if not, then the wolf, surely. Let us be glad he is helping.”

The pale-haired man scowled back, his black eyes smoldering as he thought it over.

“He is a boy, Hèctor,” said Marina. She sounded stern, but still somehow pleading. “A human boy. After all, we have seen his polla.”

Hèctor snorted and grinned, then turned away to look into the distance.

“Marina!” said Ignasi, in exaggerated fashion. “We must not teach the boy bad words!”

Dirt timidly asked, “What’s a polla?”

“See what you have done? You and Hèctor are going to ruin him,” said Ignasi. He scratched his beard, then made a forward flicking motion. “Go, boy. Start walking before they teach you something else, like tifarada or sucar.”

“Wait, what are those?” Dirt asked. He suddenly wished he’d been watching their minds after all.

That got a guffaw out of Hèctor, the most emotion Dirt had seen out of him so far, and Dirt determined he wasn’t going to get an answer. Oh well. The words would come up again eventually, he was sure.

Dirt turned and resumed walking downhill, taking an easier route this time so he didn’t have to bend any bushes out of the way. That whole conversation could have gone worse, he knew. He might be close to winning them over and that lifted his spirits. He didn’t get far before he started singing the first song to himself. Just the music, since he couldn’t remember the words, but he sang the melody.

At the bottom of the incline, in the small, high valley between the two mountains, Marina cut in with a different tune. She stepped up to walk alongside him instead of behind and smiled down every so often when she could spare a glance away from the path. She didn’t sing loudly, or even clearly. Dirt could hear that she was a little under or over the note sometimes, but he didn’t care. She sang one song after another, too many for Dirt to remember, as she helped him pick an easier path. It turned out that meant going sideways up the hill at an angle instead of straight over, which Dirt had never considered.

Near the top of the next hill, Socks snuck up from behind, perfectly silently. He crept behind them, far enough back to make sure they never saw his shadow. Dirt didn’t look back, so as to avoid giving him away.

-Is that music? Is she singing?-

“Yep! I finally get to hear music.”

-It doesn’t sound like much. It’s just like talking, but longer.-

Dirt sent a puff of amusement. “Well, I still like it. I bet you’ll like dancing. We’ll do that later. Did you bring any cattle?”

-No, they are too heavy.-

“Really?”

-They’re too big to carry in my teeth like Father, and when I carry them with my mind it makes my feet sore.-

“Oh. Well, maybe next time you can just bring a part, and I’ll have them put it on the fire just for you.”

-I should have thought of that,- said Socks. -In fact, I’ll be back in a bit.-

The landscape turned from mountains into all hills, with lots of big dips curved valleys filled with pale blue and gray brush and yellow grass. Dirt wondered why no trees grew in this area, but he wasn’t good enough with their thoughts to ask any and Home was too far away. The hills weren’t as tiring as the mountainside had been, and Marina kept a steady pace, never slowing down.

Socks rejoined them a while later, after they’d crossed through the hilly spot and gotten to a rocky area with tall pines that kept everything in shadow. The trees were all way too short, but it still felt like the real forest, which Dirt appreciated.

The pup crept up silently behind Hèctor, who was walking last, and huffed in his hair. The man glanced backward and screamed, almost falling forward. Dirt couldn’t help but laugh, even though none of the others thought it was as funny. Socks dropped the rear legs of a bull he was carrying with a heavy thud and stood there looking pleased with himself. He leaned down and sniffed poor Hèctor. The wolf had indeed bathed somewhere, and only had blood around his muzzle from, presumably, killing cattle.

“Socks! Don’t tease them!” said Dirt aloud, in their language, laughter in his voice. He ran back to say hello.

“Mitjons,” muttered Hèctor, shaking his head in disbelief. “Mitjons.”

“Not mitjons, Hèctor. Socks,” said Ignasi, teasing.

Socks lifted Dirt, gave him a good lick, and set him down again. Then he dipped his snout so Dirt could hug him, just above the nose. Ignasi stepped over and said, “Can I pet him?”

“Don’t ask me,” said Dirt.

“Lord Socks, the great and powerful, may I scratch your neck?” said Ignasi, in high spirits. Dirt glanced at the man’s mind, unable to resist anymore, and found that it was sincere. He’d gone too far beyond fear to turn back now, because what would be the point?

­­-How come you don’t call me that?- said Socks.

“Because I’ve met your parents,” replied Dirt.

The pup huffed in amusement and lay his head down. –Tell this human he is allowed to scratch my neck because he has good manners.-

Dirt chuckled and said, “Okay, Ignasi, go ahead.”

To the surprise of both Socks and Dirt, the man didn’t ease into it. Instead, he jumped in, rubbing his face in the fur and scratching deep with both arms.

Marina was next, and rather than ask, she tepidly reached forward with one arm, only really giving some good scratches after she wasn’t bitten. Hèctor didn’t follow the others, choosing instead to stand apart and look like he was being wary of possible encroaching dangers. Dirt wasn’t sure he believed it.

Socks closed his eyes and enjoyed the fine treatment. Dirt directed them to all the pup’s favorite spots, then said, “Just stop whenever you’re done. If you wait until he stops you, you’ll scratch until your arms fall off.”

­-You didn’t have to tell them that.-

“Yes I did.”

Clouds rolled in that evening, covering the darkening sky with a blanket of deep gray that hid the stars. They stopped for the night earlier than they wanted, but there was no way to keep going unless they held hands and followed Socks, who could still see just fine. Dirt considered making a light but decided against it, since Hèctor was still unsure whether or not Dirt was human and there was no reason to tip the scales in the wrong direction.

The men carved up the rear legs of the bull with their knives, explaining that it would take too long to cook otherwise. Even so, they had to build a wide fire and make stands from branches to put the meat on while it cooked. Hèctor cleverly cut the meat into big flaps, which were big enough for Socks to feel like he was getting more than a tiny snack with each piece.

While the meat was cooking, the three adults took turns singing songs. It was too dark to do any dancing, but in the orange glow they could still clap along and spend the evening in good spirits.

Neither Socks nor Dirt were sure if they liked the meat better cooked than raw, but it was still delicious, and a nice break from too much sap. Tomorrow, they’d finally see the tower. Dirt drifted off hoping they wouldn’t decide he was an avitus after all once they did.